"That settles it, by the jumping blizzards! Give me holt of that air hoss-pistil! I'll show him whuther a Yankee'll run ur not, by chaowder!"
"That's the stuff!" complimented the delighted Sammy, reaching up to pat the tall plebe on the back. "Stick to that, and you will scare him into convulsions. You must look as fierce and desperate as you can, so he'll think you are thirsting for his gore."
The preliminaries were soon over, and the valiant duelists were placed facing each other at a distance of fifteen paces. The old pistols, loaded with heavy charges of powder, but minus bullets, were thrust into their hands.
CHAPTER XLIV.
A COMEDY DUEL.
Both Hans and Ephraim were ghastly pale. The Dutch lad's teeth were chattering, and the Yankee boy's knees shook beneath him. But both tried to put on a bold front.
"Are ye ready, jintlemin?" demanded Barney Mulloy, who had been chosen to give the word.
"Vait a moment," commanded Hans, waving his hand frantically at Barney. "I vos goin' to gif dot feller a shance to safe his life. Uf he vants to abologize now I vont shood him drough der heart mit a pullet."
"Hurry up this business!" blustered Ephraim, waving the big pistol. "If ye fool around here all night it will git so thunderin' dark I can't see ter hit ther middle button on the Dutchman's coat."